


keeping the stars apart

by gaysubtexts



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, there's zouis friendship which i love help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-27 06:45:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaysubtexts/pseuds/gaysubtexts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>zayn has nightmares and doesn’t understand why liam isn’t around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	keeping the stars apart

_“how terrible it is to love something that death can touch.”_

///

 

it is not the chanting of birds the humming of car engines or the swaying of tree leaves that wakes zayn that morning, but the golden stream of sunlight casting shadows into his room. he squints at the intensity of its rays, seemingly burning holes through his retinas. he groans – he’s never enjoyed not being able to wake up on his own terms – and gets ready for the day. the hot shower water welcomes him, and he doesn’t mind that maybe it stings a little or gets too hot to bear; he deals with it, just like he deals with a lot of things.

 

it’s around noon when he gets a call, the name appearing on the screen of his mobile and plastering a grin on his face. he doesn’t mean for it to happen, he really doesn’t.

 

some things you just can’t control.

 

“hello?” he says, trying to mask his happiness.

 

“hey there,” a voice responds, light and iridescent. “meet at our place? say in about an hour?”

 

zayn wants to say no, wants to be able to say that, no, he does not want to meet you anywhere at any place at any time because he doesn’t care and wants nothing to do with you, but that isn’t true. mostly, he’s tired of lying to himself. he bites his lip and stands from his bed, starts pacing the room to let the uneasiness erase itself from his voice.

 

he’s about to speak but is beaten to it. “i’ll meet you there,” they say, and the line disconnects.

 

he can’t pretend he isn’t content, but happy? no, he’s not happy, and he’s not quite sure why. he has things people would kill for – family, friends, education, a place to live, food to eat, all of it. but sometimes, even the necessities aren’t enough to fill the hole you’ve placed inside your heart.

 

///

 

the nightmares used to be thick, hooded, covered in black mucus that placed its hands around zayn’s throat and threatened to starve him of oxygen. it lifted him off his feet, its yellow teeth the shape of daggers and just as sharp, its smile mocking and ugly, horrifying. zayn would try beating it, killing it, slashing it with whatever energy he could find within himself, but it was never enough; the darkness always overtook his light, stole it without say, snatched it away from him, and he cried out in agony. no matter how much he glowed (and in the beginning it was instantaneous) the monster always ended up taking and taking and taking and leaving him with nothing.

 

he’d wake up in screams, sweating, his heart a mess that pounded with confusion and anger; his chest heaving.

 

“zayn? wake up. zayn! it’s okay—snap out of it mate—it’s okay—“  
he opens his eyes expecting the blackness to swallow him up again, but is pleasantly surprised to see louis instead, his face full of concern, a bit terrified himself.

 

“you all right, mate?” louis brushes the hair out of zayn’s face, squeezes his arm.“heard you all the way across the hall.”

 

zayn’s heart is still racing, doesn’t want to slow down. “i—i can’t—breathe—“

 

“shh,” louis whispers, “it’s okay.” he grabs hold of zayn’s shoulders, surrounds him in a bone-crushing hug which threatens to suffocate zayn more. “it’s okay.” after a moment of silence, louis loosens his grip and says, “i’ll fetch you some water.”

 

the sudden release of louis’ arms around his body now has a reverse effect on him—he no longer feels like he’s being cut off of air, but that he’s drowning, and once again he finds himself falling deeper and deeper into an abyss of blackness, the ground nonexistent, the fall eternal. he cannot control the sobs that emanate from his body. he feels like an epileptic patient, convulsing and trembling uncontrollably against the shackles that hold him down. the thoughts in his head dissect themselves into sentences and then words and then letters, all twisting themselves in circles of bright colors that make him dizzy.

 

louis rushes back to him, glass in hand. he lifts him up, puts zayn’s head in his lap. zayn feels as if he’s slowly returning, normalcy resurfacing. he feels it.

 

“shh, it’s okay, i promise. drink,” louis orders, and presses the glass to zayn’s lips. zayn doesn’t remember how or when louis became the caring one—that was supposed to be liam’s job—but he doesn’t mind it all the same. the water feels good as it makes his way through him. he feels it go from his tongue to his throat to his esophagus where it freezes his insides. it must have been a long time since he drank anything, he thinks. he’s weak, and this frightens him. he’s never been weak before.

 

he doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he does, and this time, instead of having to face the monster, he greets kind shades of green and sunlight.

 

///

 

as zayn makes his way into the clearing, even from far away, he can see liam lying down on the grass, his face calm and peaceful. his arms rest beneath his head and his chest slowly moves up and down, up and down. if it weren’t for his eyebrows twitching at what seem to be irritable thoughts, zayn would’ve thought he were asleep. he’s wearing a white t-shirt and jeans, and zayn smiles. it feels strange to him, smiling. without thinking, he presses his fingers to his lips, tries to memorize the way they feel at this very moment.

 

he lies down next to liam without saying a word and mimics the way liam’s legs are crossed and arms pillowed beneath his head. he closes his eyes, but not without sneaking a peak at liam once more; he finds liam looking at him, studying him almost. his expression is indescribable, unreadable, but zayn doesn’t question it. liam has never been quite easy to figure out, especially lately.

 

“what took you so long?” liam asks, his weight shifted onto his elbow, all attention focused on zayn.

 

“oh, you know, stuff,” zayn responds, his eyes wandering from cloud to cloud. the weather is especially beautiful today.

 

but it’s not the only beautiful thing, he thinks.

 

“you rang?” zayn asks.

 

liam lifts an eyebrow (in that adorable way he does which makes zayn nervous to the point of fumbling his words) looking displeased and doesn’t say another word. zayn lifts himself up now so they’re at the same level. “what’s the matter?”  
liam looks away, and zayn can’t read the expression on his face. he grabs hold of liam’s chin, forces him to look at him. he’s gentle while doing so, but his expression doesn’t soften. “tell me,” he says.

 

liam’s gaze falters, and zayn thinks that maybe he feels ashamed. can’t pinpoint why.

 

liam fumbles with his words, plays with his fingers nervously. “i feel like… like you’re forgetting me.”

 

zayn’s eyebrows furrow. “forget you?” a smile dances at his lips, a laugh escapes his throat. “forget you? liam, how could i possibly do that?”

 

but liam doesn’t find it funny. he slams his back into the ground and avoids eye contact, his lips pursed. “forget it,” he mutters.

 

zayn can’t stop smiling (he sure tries, but to no avail.) he brushes liam’s cheek with his index finger, back and forth, again and again. liam swipes his hand away once, twice, but not the third time. it’s not every day zayn sees liam act this way, act so unlike himself, that he can’t help but find it adorable. he inches closer towards him, closes his eyes for a brief moment, inhales liam’s scent of raspberries and mint. he’s so close he can feel liam’s heart through his chest. he wants to reach in, grab it, hold it, protect it, claim it as his own.

 

“forgive me,” he whispers. he feels his eyelashes brush against liam’s cheek, which plumps up in a smile. at the sight of it, zayn’s heart soars. there is no better sight in this world, he thinks, than seeing liam’s eyes squint when he smiles. he can’t explain the fire he feels burning in his chest, first at full force, then smoldering, reshaping his insides.

 

and then he wonders when it was that he put liam before himself, when liam became more important to him than anything else, and he can’t remember. it must have been a million little moments put together that molded him into the person he is now, because loving liam has made him who he is. he can’t deny that, and he wouldn’t try.

 

zayn sighs and presses him lips to liam’s, the familiarity of it making him feel like sludge. his lips melt, then his fingers as they place themselves on liam’s stomach, then his hips as they sway to the rhythm of liam’s body. he swears he’ll go blind from how bright liam shines, especially here, and now.

 

liam puts his hand on the back of zayn’s neck, makes sure zayn doesn’t turn away from him, break the kiss, but zayn never would. even if he wanted to, he couldn’t. he was in too deep, but he didn’t care.

 

they must’ve been kissing for hours, because when they open their eyes again, it’s dark out, the world silent and a bit hazy. their every limb is interlocked. even in the darkness zayn can make out liam’s perfect features, his hair circling his forehead, his button nose, his lips curling into a smile. liam reaches out to caress zayn’s dark anti-gravitational hair—which is funny because if anyone else dared to put a finger on zayn, his hair especially, they’d have another thing coming—but zayn doesn’t mind. he welcomes the act of affection, wants to kiss it, hold it, cuddle it. he feels warmth anytime liam is near.

 

he can’t explain how he feels now; how one person changed him completely. he remembers the days when he spat in the faces of people he didn’t like, threw unnecessary tantrums, drank until his organs could barely function, said things he didn’t mean just for the sake of hurting people. and now he was caring, he was kind, he was understanding. liam had changed him for the better, and for that, there was no way to repay him. not really.

 

liam holds him close, presses him lips to zayn’s forehead, whispers, “it’s been a long day.” he kisses him. “sleep.”

 

“no,” says zayn, “i want to stay with you.”

 

“you are,” liam assures, “you are with me. but it’s time to sleep. close your eyes.” his voice is just a whisper, but it’s enough to convince zayn, and within seconds he’s asleep, lost in images resembling happiness and hope.

 

///

 

he’s not sure how long he’s been asleep or how he got back to his room, but when he opens his eyes, there he is. his sheets smell of raspberries and something else he can’t identify, but either way the fragrance reminds him of home. he grins at the thought.

 

no nightmares tonight.

///

there’s a knock at the door. zayn goes to answer it and sees louis standing in the doorway, a narrow scarf lining his shoulders, his pants rolled above the ankle.

 

“hey, mate. the boys and i are having a little bit of a get-together later. fancy coming along?”

 

zayn rubs the sleep from his eyes, blinks multiple times. the fog won’t leave his sight.

 

if liam was going to be there, why wouldn’t he come? “er—of course. i’ll be there.”  
louis looks back at him. an expression crosses his face but zayn can’t quite make it out.

 

“all right,” says louis, “see you soon then.”

 

///

 

zayn doesn’t know what time it is when he enters louis and harry’s apartment, but from the looks of it, the party’s started without him—if you could call three people a party.

 

louis, harry, and niall are centered around the television watching a rom com that zayn is surprised he hasn’t seen before. he glances around the room, checks for traces of a certain someone.

 

louis said everyone’d be here.

 

with a groan, he sits himself into an empty armchair, stares blankly at the wall, annoyed beyond belief. he could’ve been sleeping or jogging or showering or…  
or spending time with liam.

 

but no. instead he’s here; here, where he has to endure louis and harry’s constant pecking and cuddling, sweet murmurs and soft words spoken to each other. all he wants is to be with liam the way they are with each other. he doesn’t understand why it can’t be that way, why he can’t shout his love for liam from rooftops, bathe in it, drink it in and let the world know how he feels. things aren’t the way they should be.

 

he quietly excuses himself and walks out to the balcony. before lighting a cigarette, he drinks in the crisp, cold air, closes his eyes and lets it surround him. he swears he’s okay. he swears on it. he just wants—

 

“thought i wouldn’t show up, didn’t you?”

 

he turns suddenly, startled. liam’s smile is as wide as the moon, but prettier, more fulfilling when gazed upon. he momentarily forgets about the cigarette in his hand and fumbles trying to light it.

 

“let me,” liam says, and reaches for the lighter, but zayn doesn’t allow it.

 

“no, i got it,” he says, and tries to light it once more, but nothing happens. he doesn’t know what’s come over him, or why he’s angry all of a sudden. he doesn’t understand it, and he knows liam doesn’t deserve it.

 

liam inches closer until their skin meets, and it shocks zayn like an electric current. he wants to smile at the irony of it; that the way liam touches him is a precise representation of their relationship: a beautiful mess.

 

liam’s hand presses against zayn’s back, and he leaves it there, rubbing circles into it. he takes the lighter from zayn’s hand and proceeds to emit a flame. he cups a hand around it to prevent it from blowing out and brings it to the cigarette hanging from zayn’s lips. they make eye contact, and the way he looks at zayn as if he can see right through him. zayn thinks it just might destroy him.

 

he takes a long puff, keeps it in his lungs a second longer than he should, breathes it out, a light cough spurting from his chest along the way.

 

“why do you do it? it’s obviously not any good for you,” says liam, his arms hanging off the railing.

 

zayn shrugs, brings himself closer to liam so they’re leaning together, not an inch apart. “just because you don’t like it doesn’t mean i’m not gonna do it.”

 

liam scoffs, unimpressed. “just seems senseless is all. but you’re right. i’m not going to tell you what you can and can’t do. that’s for you to decide.”

 

zayn rolls his eyes. “what is this? some kind of reverse psychology or something? it’s just a cigarette, liam, for christ’s sake.”

 

liam looks at him, doesn’t blink, then turns away just as suddenly. he isn’t hurt, zayn knows that, but something else. disappointed, perhaps.

 

zayn sighs, takes another drag, blows it out. he rubs his forehead, exhausted. “i’m sorry,” he says. “i just… i feel like i never see you anymore. i never know where to find you.”

 

liam takes the cigarette from zayn’s mouth, throws it on the ground, stomps on it. zayn doesn’t know why he isn’t upset, but he really couldn’t care less.

 

“zayn,” liam says as he takes his hand, squeezes it hard. “what are you talking about? i’m always here.” he smiles, and zayn thinks he might die from the immense beauty of it. it leaves scars on his heart, burns in his stomach. that smile is bound to destroy him.

 

zayn shakes his head to get back to his thoughts. “it’s not that simple. i don’t know. maybe you’re right.”

 

“plus,” says liam, “if you ever think i’ve disappeared, you know where to find me.”

 

zayn looks up at him, his eyes red and teary. he doesn’t notice he’s crying until he feels a tiny drop on his wrist. he doesn’t remember it starting, but there it is, droplets spilling from his tearducts like rain. he brings his arm up to his face, attempts to shield it.

 

“you don’t know how much i can’t stand it.” beneath the tears and cold shudders, his voice cracks, but he’s too overwhelmed to care. he can feel the air closing in, oxygen leaving his lungs. he is forgetting how to breathe.

 

(one, two, three, breathe.)

 

he can feel liam bring himself closer again, the urgency in the way his body gravitates him apparent, his voice soft and understanding. liam presses his lips against zayn’s, and though it isn’t the first time, it’s just as subtle, just as saccharine and pleasant and satisfying, and zayn can’t get enough. he cannot imagine living in a world where liam’s lips don’t move against his as they do right this second, so kind, so nurturing. zayn begs for more, but liam’s not one to give it all at once. life is about give and take, he says, and zayn hates this.

 

liam breaks the kiss and looks into zayn’s eyes, no hint of humor or sarcasm or playfulness on his face. sincerity takes its place instead. he wipes away the tears tracing zayn’s eyelids using his thumb, then erases them from his cheeks. zayn thinks it’s strange how he used to comfort liam in this way. he wonders when the roles reversed.

 

“out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field,” liam says, and his voice is the sweetest that zayn has ever known it to be. he’s in an ocean now, trying to learn to swim. each time he thinks he’s gotten the hang of it, finally grasped the mere concept of it, the current takes him under again, and he’s left gasping, pleading, drowning.

 

but then—

 

“i’ll meet you there.”

 

sunlight. it peaks through clouds and the tall buildings of the city and sets his face on fire. he blinks lazily, stretches. he doesn’t remember where he is.

 

“ah, you’re up!” louis walks out onto the balcony and sits next to him on the chair.

“was gonna wake you up once i found you out here and tell you to get to your own place… but you looked so comfortable i didn’t have the heart to. we’d wondered where you’d wandered off to.” he smiles at zayn and hands him a hot mug of coffee. “drink up.”

 

zayn blinks, tries to shake the sleep off of him. “when did he leave?” he asks bluntly, not in the mood for small talk. he’s hurt, that’s obvious, but he’s too tired and too confused to try and make the feeling go away.

 

louis sits back, stares at the sky. “dunno. i’d say around two… maybe three a.m.? that’s just a guess though.”

 

it’s silent for a while. they both stare out into sky and follow the flight of birds circling their heads.

 

after a long silence, louis says, “he always wanted to be with you, you know. there was never… there was never a doubt in my mind about that, zayn.”

 

and then there’s nothing more to say. because a long time ago zayn and liam lost what they had, lost something that kept them together, lost each other. and what fucking kills zayn is that he can’t remember how it happened, or why or when or where. he doesn’t know where it all went wrong, why they’re disconnected now, why they don’t hold and kiss and fuck like they used to. none of it makes sense anymore and it’s driving zayn crazy, making him run in circles, nearly killing him, and that’s not an exaggeration, he’s afraid.

 

“it must be nice,” zayn utters under his breath, but he knows louis hears. “must be nice to have it all.” and then he’s crying because he can’t hold it in every single damn time and he can’t keep pretending everything’s fine when it’s so clearly not. louis takes zayn in his arms, holds him. and zayn’s grateful for it, grateful to have a friends as kind and good as lou, but that’s all he can do. louis can’t make the pain go away or tell him things will change or that everything will be okay in the end, because he doesn’t know that. no one does.

 

they stay like that for the remainder of the morning, and it feels so good to zayn to let it out all at once.

 

///

 

zayn remembers the first time liam really tugged on his heartstrings, actually made zayn feel something (and getting him to feel anything at all is a task in itself.)

 

zayn wasn’t always the one to pine after liam. in fact, it had started out the other way around. it began in a classroom.

 

zayn remembers the atmosphere he was surrounded by back then: friendly, eager, willing. kids his age occupy row after row of wooden desks and chairs, the floors checkered, the board black. he’s in english, his favorite class by far, listening as his teacher discusses the motifs of e.e. cummings’ ‘i carry your heart with me’. as much as zayn wants to be inspired by it, he can’t seem to get over how pathetically cheesy it seems as he studies the words sprawled out onto the paper in front of him.

 

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

 

he scoffs at the poor misuse of punctuation, capitalization, and spacing.

 

the teacher looks up. “something wrong, mr. malik?”

 

“oh, er—“ he stutters, “no, it’s nothing.”

 

“please,” she says, “if you have something to say, share.”

 

don’t mind if i do. “it’s not a big deal,” he says, “just… i don’t understand the language he uses here. there aren’t any spaces between the words.”

 

“glad to see you’ve noticed,” she remarks sarcastically, “i was going to go into detail about this later but i suppose we could discuss it now, as you seem to be surprisingly interested.” she stands in front of her desk, puts her weight on it, crosses her legs. “what do you think his reasoning behind this is?”

 

zayn shakes his head. “not sure. but i do think it’s strange considering… well, i don’t think of his other poems are written this way.”

 

he’s about to continue his argument when he’s cut off—“some are, actually.”

 

he turns to his left only to see a boy with brown hair like waves and a very visible birthmark on kissing his neck. strange, he thinks, i’ve never seen him before.

 

“sorry?” zayns asks.

 

“in his poem ‘in Just-‘ for example, he takes multiple opportunities not to use proper spacing or punctuation. ‘buffalo bill’s’ as well.”

 

zayn blinks. he can feel warmth rising from his toes to his thighs to his chest, filling his nerves with embarrassment. “oh.”

 

“of course, most people think he was just one for making mistakes, or being careless, so to speak, but cummings wasn’t like that about his writing, was he?” says the boy, his smile wide, mocking. if the teacher wasn’t there zayn thinks he would punch him in the face. “no,” the boy continues, “he couldn’t have been that careless.”

 

just then the bell rings, and zayn is grateful. without hesitating he grabs his books and walks out, heading for his locker. stupid prick.

 

he skims the titles of his textbooks, trying to figure out which ones he’ll need next when he’s accompanied by a voice.

 

“didn’t mean to make you angry.”

 

zayn stares at the boy from class blankly, doesn’t blink. “don’t feel a thing.” he returns to his locker, picks at random things to make it seem as if he’s busy.

 

“well i just didn’t want you to think i’m an asshole or something,” the boys says. “i’m usually not like that… overbearing with information and all.”

 

when zayn doesn’t reply, he continues, “i’m liam.”

 

“and i’m leaving.” zayn crosses the hall and heads into the next room. it’s only when he sits down that he realizes it isn’t his class.

///

days pass, then weeks, and life continues as it always has. there is a beginning and an end to each day. a long, tiresome, rather boring cycle of zayn’s life that screams monotony. school is his main focus, as it always has been, but even more so now that it’s his last year and it actually counts now. his future is at the tip of his fingers and although he cares immensely he is too exhausted to plan it out immediately.

 

after forcing himself to dress, he heads down to the library for some peaceful reading. perhaps he’ll try thoreau or woolf or… or perhaps cummings. (he cringes at that last one.)

 

the library isn’t big, nor is it even an adequate size for a college as big as his. but it’s filled top to bottom with books and books and more books so he doesn’t mind. upon entering he walks a few rows down, stands in the aisle, scours the shelves for an interesting, brief read. he squints his eyes trying to make out some of the titles and finally picks something that holds his interest: fahrenheit 451.

 

he makes his way to the sitting area and is displeased to find that all the seats are taken—except for one. it’s all the way across the room, furthest away from where he stands and at the corner of a long rectangular table. he groans at the thought of having to shuffle between people to get there, but oh well. he walks over and sits down, book in hand, and keeps his head down. no use in making small talk. he turns a page, then another, and then another. he swears he can get through the first chapter, but something distracts him.

 

eyes. a pair of them. on him.

 

he looks up, and regrets it the second his gaze matches another’s.

 

“you again.”

 

zayn remains silent, half expects the boy—what was his name again?—to say something else that will make zayn wants to punch a wall, but the boy stays quiet.

 

so much for that.

 

he picks the book up again, reads the same line what must be fifty times. he cannot ignore the holes burning through his forehead.

 

“ugh,” he scoffs, “what are you staring at?”

 

the boys laughs lightly. “i’m not.”

 

“yeah? then what are you doing right now?”

 

the boys shrugs, and zayn can’t help but notice that his lips pout when doing so. it’s only for a second, but the image burns in the back of zayn’s mind for the next twenty seconds. “whatcha reading?”

 

zayn lays the book on its binding and places his hands over the cover and its title. immaturity at its best.

the boy leans over, manages to see. “ah, bradbury. great author he is. although you don’t seem to be enjoying his work too much.”

 

“and how would you know that?”

 

he shrugs once again. “maybe it’s the way you scrunch your nose every time you skim a line.”

 

“oh really?” zayn smirks, half amused, half annoyed. “i’m busy, all right?” he picks the book back up and attempts to continue where he left off but can’t. because the material isn’t interesting and because of other reasons.

 

he steals a peek at the brown haired boy and notices that he’s entirely engrossed in a reading of his own.

he thinks over what he’s about to do, asks himself if it’s a good idea. but damn, the kid is really into it, and he wants a little bit of what’s keeping him interested. he can’t explain why.

 

“well?” zayn asks. the boy looks up at him and smiles as if he wasn’t just told off two minutes ago, wonders if he notices that their words were mirrored and that it was an accident on zayn’s part.

 

“what?”

 

“what is it?”

 

“who wants to know?”

 

zayn rolls his eyes. “i’m just curious is all.”

 

still smiling, the boy slides the book over to zayn, but just as he’s about to take it from him, the boy snatches it back again. “maybe later.” he stands from his chair and gathers his things with a humorous smirk on his face. “and in case you’d forgotten, it’s liam,” he says, and makes his way toward the exit.

 

zayn scoffs. “yeah. right.”

 

but for some reason his insides smolder.

 

///

 

and it all goes downhill from there. like a gust of wind, liam creeps up on zayn, and it’s nothing he can understand or explain. it’s something that hits him in the face and sucks the air out of his lungs and replaces it with kind words, shy smiles, and playful but hesitant fingers.

 

he kind of likes it, the fact that it’s something he doesn’t understand. because all he’s ever done is dissected things to the point of over-understanding them; to the point of boredom really, because what’s the fun in there not being an unknown?  
at first liam sits himself near zayn at the lunch table, doesn’t say much, minds his own business while doing so. and then whispers hellos and goodbyes at beginnings and ends of days. and then helps zayn pick up the pencils and loose leaf papers that accidentally fall to the floor in an attempt to get to class on time. and then makes zayn smile after saying something that wasn’t even funny (but to zayn it is, and that’s what counts.) and then before zayn knows it, liam is at his side regularly, starting up conversations and ending them as well. he walks zayn home, tells him about how he had wanted to talk to him for a while but didn’t know how. and then asks zayn about maybe sort of probably getting coffee and all the while zayn can’t help but feel overcome with happiness at the new friend he’s made.

 

but he’s also a bit worried, because he feels something more. just a little but more. it pulls at him now and then, reminds him that this isn’t something that’s happened before, it’s not like other friendships he’s had (lord knows he’s never felt this way about louis) and though it scares him, he brushes it off anyway.

 

///

 

zayn isn’t feeling well. his heart is racing at the speed of light and sweat is trickling down his face like there’s rain spurting from his ceiling. his skin burns hot and feels heavy on his bones, weighs him down like a pile of rocks, boils.

 

he doesn’t know what time it is, or what day it is even, but he can’t manage to get out of bed. his head pounds, his hands shake.

 

there’s the sound of knuckles against wood (with the words “knock knock,” accompanying them) and liam appears with a brown paper bag in his hand and a smile on his lips. “ah, just as i figured. ill, are we?”

 

when zayn speaks, his throat burns. “how’d you know?”

 

liam shrugs and places himself at the foot of zayn’s bed. “not that difficult to put together. it’s not every day you miss college.” he opens the bag and out comes tupperware. once the lid is open the air smells of tomatoes and oregano.

 

“you made me soup?”

 

liam looks at him, smiles. “no, i brought it for myself but decided you should be taste-tester.” he reaches into the bag once more and out comes a spoon.

 

“sit up a second.”

 

zayn pushes himself against his headboard in an upright position as he watches liam dip the spoon into the soup and blow on it three times before holding it to zayn’s lips. “open.”

 

zayn does as he’s told and is instantly gratified the second the hot liquid swishes around his mouth and slides down his throat, gently and gradually. it soothes the aching there, makes the pain more bearable.

 

“mmm,” he groans, “that’s good.” his eyes close and he lies back against his pillow. “our mums should exchange recipes.”

 

“right,” says liam, “except my mum doesn’t know how to cook.”

 

zayn laughs but it gets caught in his throat, pains him. he coughs. “you mean to tell me you made this?”

 

liam shrugs and a pout appears on his lips as he does so. “i’m not all that bad, am i?”

 

“no,” says zayn, and he realizes his voice has a hint of longing in it that he accidentally let slip. when he speaks next he tries harder to cover it up. “not at all.”

 

there’s silence that takes up the space of the entire room, but only momentarily. it’s as if there are so many words that have yet to be spoken, so many things that need to be said, but neither of them know exactly how to say them.

 

“so how was it today? anything interesting happen?”

 

“not much. in math we reviewed for the test next friday and niall almost shit his pants during econ because of a rotten batch of fajitas he ate earlier, but other than that, nothing.”

 

zayn laughs. “yeah? and what about english?”

 

“hmm.” liam thinks on it for a moment, his eyebrows cocked in concentration. “nothing important i can remember—oh yeah. we reviewed a couple poems, different ones, but didn’t go into too much detail.” he grins. “nothing you can’t catch up on.”

 

zayn holds a hand to his forehead, rubs it to soothe the pounding inside. “speaking of which, you never told me the title.”

 

“of what?” liam asks. he places the soup on the nightstand. he takes off his shoes and sits himself next to zayn, his hands resting on his stomach.

 

“whatever it was you were reading. you know… that day in the library a while ago.”

 

liam’s lips part in understanding and he turns away from zayn’s stare. “oh. yeah.”

 

“go on then. tell me.”

 

“i can’t.”

 

zayn’s eyebrows furrow. “why not?”

 

“because,” says liam, “it doesn’t have one. it was a poem. a nameless one.”

 

“well i’d still like to read it.” zayn doesn’t quite understand how he’s still having a stable conversation in the state he’s in, but he has to admit he feels better than before.

 

when liam doesn’t immediately respond, he says, “c’mon. please?”

 

liam’s cheeks turn a very deep shade of red then, his voice lined with embarrassment, but spirited nonetheless. “you’ll laugh.”

 

zayn places his hand on liam’s wrist, and the gesture of affection surprises them both. “i won’t. promise.”

 

liam’s eyes trace the outline of zayn’s face: his jaw, the tiny stubble that lines it, and then makes their way to his nose, his lips, his eyes, until finally he breaks eye contact and reaches into his back pocket. zayn sees it’s a neatly folded piece of paper, the edges of it worn but still intact. he wonders what it’s doing there, attaching itself to liam everywhere it goes, but doesn’t question it. he knows it’s not the time.

 

liam clears his throat, hands it to zayn. “it’s—it’s not much.”

 

but zayn’s head is throbbing and his vision is blurred and he can barely see out of his eyes much less read. “read it to me.”

 

liam cocks an eyebrow. “you sure?”

 

without opening his eyes, zayn’s hands find the warmth of liam’s, their skin colliding, pressing into each other. “please.”

 

without further question liam leans back again and unfolds the paper.

 

“out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing there is a field. i will meet you there. when the soul lies down in that grass, the world is too full to talk about. ideas, language, even the phrase ‘each other’ doesn’t make any sense.”

 

it ends quicker than zayn had predicted, has a sensation to it he wasn’t expecting, but also a softness that pokes at him, so faint he think he’s imagined it. he thinks if people could be poems, liam would be that one. he forces his eyes to open, to take a peek at liam’s expression, and is intrigued to find him staring off into space.

 

“shorter than i thought,” zayn says. “but good nonetheless. comforting.”

 

“i like things short and sweet.” liam looks at him. “you really think so?”

 

“yeah, i liked it. i hate to say it—don’t want your ego getting any bigger—but you’ve got good taste when it comes to pretty words.”

a frown creeps its way onto liam’s lips. he looks down at his hands. “i think it’s more than that. more than pretty words.” and it’s the most defiant zayn’s ever heard liam talk about anything, so much so that he looks at him long and hard and studies the seriousness etched into every line of his face.

 

“what’s wrong?” the concern on zayn’s face is ostensible. his voice drips with it.

 

“nothing’s wrong zayn. i—“ and with that pause his voice trembles and his palms sweat and he wish he wouldn’t have read it at all. “it’s just—i was waiting i guess.”

and before zayn has time to interrogate him further he adds, “waiting for the right time to show it to you.” he rubs his nose, averts his gaze. “this is gonna sound stupid but… well i’m not actually very into literature, zayn. maybe you’ve already figured that out by now, i don’t know. but i came across this poem by chance a while ago and it was the first time i read something that actually touched me.”

 

zayn can feel liam’s heart pound without balance as they sit next to each other, shift unevenly, weigh liam down.

 

“they were so beautiful, those words, that i had the urge to share them… with someone.” and with that last word (only a whisper) he looks up at zayn, his eyes somber, almost pleading. zayn can’t help but think his eyes are so wide that they’re almost a bit puppy-like. liam’s lips part slightly as he speaks again, quietly, unsure, “get it?”

///

and just like that zayn feels a ton of bricks collapse onto his chest, leaving irreparable damage to his lungs, his ribs, his heart. he hears the sound of metal against metal, glass shattering, rubber squeaking. his body rocks back and forth, back and forth.

 

“zayn. zayn! snap out of it.”

 

his eyes snap open. his body feels like it’s on fire. he takes in huge gulps of air as the oxygen reenters his body.

 

“wh—what—“

 

“it’s okay, breathe,” says louis hovering over him. “had another nightmare i take it.”  
except it wasn’t a nightmare, not tonight. it was the waking up that terrified him.  
throughout the night zayn replays it in his head, all the moments he and liam shared in the past; the moments that changed him, made him better. he reminisces about that afternoon in his room, sick, lying in bed; how liam first confessed his feelings so ambiguously (but so clearly) and it physically pains him to know that he always felt the same.

 

and just like most other times louis stays with him in the night, brings him water, keeps him in good company, tucks him in and makes sure he’s peacefully asleep.

 

///

 

the first time zayn gets butterflies is in a meadow. or a field. zayn doesn’t know the difference.

 

since the afternoon in zayn’s room things change but not in a physical aspect. it’s the meaning behind their late night conversation, the way zayn places his hand over liam’s time after time and the way they walk together in matching rhythm. neither brings up the poem but they know it’s at the forefront of their minds.

 

zayn carries his books in his hands while roaming the halls and opens one to find a note. in it are directions to a place he’s never been before but there’s something else. sprawled underneath are four words, concise but clear.

 

i’ll meet you there.

 

zayn’s smile is so wide he has to cover his mouth with his arm.

 

///

 

at first zayn thinks he’s lost and almost panics. he’s never been to this part of town before where the green overtakes the buildings. he drives as far as the trail will take him and then gets out, walking the rest on foot. it leads to a narrow path lined with twigs and dirt. he continues all the way down, casually removing a branch or two from his face now and then, until he reaches a sight that takes his breath away: grass greener than he’s ever seen laid out for what must be miles, surrounded by tall trees with thick branches and flowers of every kind and color.  
a field.

 

and liam waits for him there.

 

///

 

when they kiss it’s sweet and subtle and everything zayn had (and had not) expected. they’re taking a stroll in the meadow, stopping every once and a while to take in their surroundings.

 

zayn picks up a purple iris and holds it to his nose. inhales. holds it to liam’s. “smell.”

 

liam obeys, smiles. “mmm,” he murmurs, taking in its sweet fragrance. “can’t say i’ve ever smelled that one before. lovely.”

 

zayn snorts. “what are you, sixty? who says the word lovely?” but inside he finds it intriguing, beautiful of liam even.

 

the day is coming to an end, the sun lowering itself into the sky slowly but surely, its rays turning the grass an off tint of orange. they stop near an oak tree that looks like it could pass for one hundred and fifty years old, its bark shedding and its trunk at least five feet wide.

 

zayn’s the first to sit against it and pats the empty space next to him—“come sit”—and shortly after liam does, fingertips brush his cheek, caressing them. he looks at zayn who gives him a concentrated glance and seems to be breathing in the very core of liam’s existence.

 

“why did you bring me here, liam?” he asks. “tell me the truth.”

 

not looking at zayn, liam says in a small voice, “you know why.”

 

and zayn can’t remember who initiated it or where hands went or which body parts tangled together but in no time his lips are attached to liam’s in a way that says we cannot be separated; i’ve wanted this for so long and a sigh of fulfillment and satisfaction escapes his chest. the butterflies are huge, too huge to bear, and he feels like if he doesn’t move they’ll somehow come clawing right out of his stomach.  
he lays liam down on his back, placing one hand against the ground and one behind liam’s neck for support. his leg finds comfort in the space between liam’s, rests there as their kisses intensify. he nips at liam’s lower lip again and again until liam opens it enough so zayn’s tongue can explore his mouth. his breath is hot and grows more ragged with every small nip and bite, and zayn can’t help but smile noticing this, so much so that liam accidentally kisses his teeth instead of his lips.

 

“what’s so funny?”

 

“mm’nothin’,” says zayn between kisses, “i like you.”

 

they stay like that, curled into each other until the sun is nowhere to be found and the moon and stars have made their home in the sky. they breathe each other in again and again and again until the scent is gone and the smell of their clothes is all that’s left. one of zayn’s arms supports his own head as a pillow while the other is laid out for liam’s to rest on.

 

“i’m glad you brought me here,” says zayn. “i like it.”

 

“you like lots of things.”

 

zayn scratches an itch he feels near his temple. “not true. just things you do.”

 

“that’s what’s not true.” and liam’s voice is laced with innocent flattery.

 

“i don’t know how you did it. i still can’t believe it, but you did. you actually did.”

 

for a second liam’s brows furrow in confusion, then splay out normally as he slowly comprehends. “well, you’re not the easiest person to get along with. i had to be persistent.”

 

zayn laughs. “why me though? there are plenty of fine-looking lads at our college. and with someone as charming as yourself i can’t imagine it would’ve been hard to grab their attention.”

 

“but i didn’t want anyone else, did i?” liam looks up at zayn, continues. “i can’t pinpoint it really. i think i always knew. i always knew i wanted to be with you.”  
zayn smirks, confident, perhaps even cocky.

 

“—even though you’re a smug asshole.”

 

zayn laughs close-mouthed into liam’s hair, kissing his head once before saying, “thanks for taking care of me, by the way. i don’t think i ever properly thanked you.”

 

liam shrugs nonchalantly, “it was nothing. was actually a little selfish of me if i’m being honest. it was the only way i could think would really soften you up enough to hear me out.”

 

“you’re lucky that soup was delicious then.”

 

they stay in each other’s arms until the sun rises.

 

///

 

liam visits zayn’s house and meets his family and they fall in love with him (just like everyone does) and liam’s family welcomes zayn into their lives with open arms. the minutes they spend together turn into hours and then days and then weeks until it feels like being without each other is next to impossible. their days at college pass by quickly as they subtly brush hands and caress backs and stare intently. people have begun to notice, and it’s funny to zayn that he doesn’t care. it feels different, but good all the same.

 

it’s funny though, growing up. you’re under the impression that many great things are in front of you, waiting for you patiently. that’s how zayn and liam feel, young and carefree as they are.

 

what they didn’t know was that their lives wouldn’t be tangled together forever.

 

///

 

louis nudges zayn day after day about meeting the new kid he’s been spending so much time with. zayn fumbles with the button of his shirt as louis tries convincing him to bring him over. zayn doesn’t think it’s a big deal, not really anyway, but it’s still strange to him to think that once liam is introduced zayn will no longer be seen as the “smoldering straight one” anymore. it’s been part of his identity for so long; he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to adjust so quickly.

 

but it’s lou, his best friend; his very gay best friend, and so he lets it happen and calls liam telling him that hey, my best mate wants to meet you so do you think you could come over tonight please?

 

liam arrives at approximately eight twenty-seven, three minutes earlier than he was told but that’s okay. when zayn answers the door liam’s back is turned the other way as if he were admiring the nighttime and when he acknowledges that the door is open, he turns and smiles warmly.

 

all the worry seems to dissipate from zayn’s body as he holds out his hand for liam to take. he notices liam’s wearing his button down navy blazer, the one zayn always compliments. “come in,” he says. “louis’ in the kitchen.” but before they can get there zayn pulls him into a kiss, tangy but sweet, short but long lasting. liam tastes like raspberries.

 

leading liam into the kitchen, zayn clears his throat as louis is preparing casserole for their dinner (which he so graciously offered to do, as this whole gathering was his idea.) “ahem,” he coughs, “louis, this is liam. liam, louis.”

 

louis sticks out a hand, gives liam a smile. “nice to meet you, lad. just in time for the good ol’ tommo feast, you are.”

 

it isn’t quiet, oddly enough, the three of them gathered around the table digging into louis’ deliciously-made roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and casserole. they sip cheap wine from their glasses and laugh at louis’ dry humor and liam’s corny jokes. zayn can’t help but admire the fact that louis has warmed up to liam so quickly. that doesn’t happen very often.

 

and thankfully thankfully thankfully it isn’t awkward at all when their relationship is brought to the surface. it happens quite subtly actually as zayn stares liam down with longing—something he is not aware he’s doing.

 

louis eyes him carefully, raises an eyebrow. “a bit distracted there, zayn?” he sips his wine, a line smile pursing his lips, knowing, approving.

 

zayn breaks his gaze. “oh—i—uh—yeah, actually,” he stutters, “i am.” he boldly places a hand over liam’s, rubs the skin with his thumb.

 

liam can’t help the streak of red that overtakes his cheeks. flushed, he looks down, smiling nonetheless.

 

louis laughs, takes another sip of wine before saying, “i had a feeling. well, i’m happy for you guys. and god knows you make zayn happy. now—who’s up for dessert?” he looks at the kitchen counter, confused. “what—did i forget the pastries? damnit. i’ll be right back.” he walks out the door and zayn knows he’s gone to his own flat a few doors down to retrieve what he’s left behind.  
it was lucky they lived so close.

 

///

 

it’s an ocean, their relationship. around mid-day they are wild, carefree, upbeat. at night they are eager, open, spill over the edges gallons at a time. at sunrise they are calm, soft, and subtle.

 

sunrise is liam and zayn’s favorite.

 

///

 

through kisses and comfort and tangled sheets and sweet murmurs in the morning light, zayn falls deeper and deeper into an abyss of swelled hope and fear, but even more into love. it’s in the way they touch, they whisper; it’s waking up next to each other, watching each other sleep peacefully as the dark fades and light takes its place; it’s the subtle movements that communicate the clearest between them. so when they claw at each other, zayn moaning liam’s name into his neck, liam kissing his shoulder, there’s a feeling of pinned optimism there. it says i love you. we belong together. and we will make it through.

///

“i think we should move in together.” it’s fast, rips off liam’s tongue like a band-aid.

 

zayn stops mid-walk, stares at the packed box in his hand. “wait—that’s what this is for?”

 

liam nods hesitantly.

 

“i thought you said you were gonna live on your own.”

 

“well yeah, that’s what i said, but not quite what i meant, was it?” the sarcasm in liam’s tone is heavier than zayn’s used to.

 

zayn walks over to liam’s bed to sit and puts a doubtful hand on the back of his neck. “you’re serious?”

 

liam’s hands raise in frustration. “of course i’m serious! why would i joke about us moving in together?”

 

“i don’t know—you wouldn’t—“

 

liam sighs and sits next to him, rubs his back in circular motions. “it’s okay zayn. you don’t have to give me an answer right now. i’m a patient guy.”

 

zayn sighs, “but i’m not.” leaning forward he brushes his cheek against liam’s. “we both already know the answer.”

 

a smile appears on liam’s mouth, wide and bright. zayn almost melts at the sight.

 

///

 

looking back has two outcomes: really fucking amazing or really fucking painful. for zayn, it’s the latter. it’s always the latter. nostalgia isn’t a stranger to him, isn’t something he’s been living without, especially lately.

 

when zayn snaps out of his memories, momentarily forgets the past, the present slaps him in the face. sometimes he touches his face and notices the difference in his skin; how it’s gone from soft and pure to withered and tainted only in a matter of months. some days he can’t tell the difference between his dreams and reality.  
when it’s morning light and he rolls over to find that the space where liam should be is unoccupied he weeps into his shoulder, distraught; asks himself where it all went wrong. why liam barely visits anymore. why he’s so far away. why he can’t feel him near. he bunches up the sheets in his palms to muffle his screams, blames himself audibly over and over and over.

 

the sound of rubber screeching and glass shattering returns as it always does and sounds like a kettle ready to be taken off the flame; it rings in his ears so belligerently he has to cover them, beg them to stop.

 

louis doesn’t come running in this time.

 

///

 

all it takes for zayn to remember he’s alone is stare at the empty space in his bed and the untouched cds on liam’s shelf and the untouched silverware and untouched doorknobs and untouched toothbrush and untouched everything.

it’s eating dinner opposite a shadow and making conversation with ghosts and thin air that widen the hole in his heart.

it’s not waking up to raspy whispers of “good morning” and falling asleep to hazy sighs of “goodnight” and not feeling whole.

just the thought of any of this, and he drowns again.

 

///

 

the meadow is the only place they ever meet anymore, and the more times they do, the more zayn notices how distant they appear to be, and it stings. the pain has doubled since last week and he’s vomited a few times since. but he’s still grateful to be in liam’s presence, even if for a short time.

 

“how come you never visit?” zayn asks, his nose nuzzling liam’s neck. he knows that perhaps his movements of snuggling up tight to his side and constant inhaling in his scent may be a bit much but he can’t help it. he literally wants to drink liam in, every ounce of him. he silently wonders when he turned so dependent.

 

“because it’s not possible, zayn,” liam answers.

 

“and why is that?”

 

liam looks down at him. “i’m genuinely worried about you,” he says. “you think i never see you, never visit you, but i do. trust me i do. and if it were possible to spend every waking moment with you for all of forever, i swear to you i would. but i can’t. it’s just not possible.” his voice breaks at the last word, and zayn wants it to make sense, wants it all to come together.

 

“tell me,” zayn urges. “please, liam. tell me.”

 

when liam says nothing, zayn turns angry, scoffs. “you know, i thought out of everyone i knew you’d be the first to be upfront and honest with me, especially about us. guess i was wrong.” he detaches his body from liam’s—something he almost doesn’t have the strength to do—and is about to walk away when liam’s hand grabs his own. “wait.”

 

he turns, looks back at liam. “i…” liam stumbles, unsure, “i don’t want you to be confused anymore. as much as i don’t want you to hurt, you deserve to know.”

 

zayn kneels beside him, eager, desperate. “know what?” he asks.

 

a tear rolls down liam’s cheeks and falls to the ground as he whispers, “the truth.”

 

///

 

and for the first time in months, zayn is aware of the fact that he is dreaming. in this moment, he is dreaming, and he can’t help but laugh.

 

“what?” asks liam.

 

“it’s just funny… i have better luck seeing you in my dreams than in real life.”  
liam frowns. “you still don’t understand. but don’t worry. you will soon.”

 

zayn isn’t sure where they are, but it doesn’t matter.

 

“zayn, what’s the last thing you remember? think about it long and hard, and take it seriously please.”

 

zayn closes his eyes, a sad smile on his lips. images whir in his head, some clear, like ones of him and liam visiting the beach and collecting seashells, or when liam taught zayn to swim. but most… most are grainy, blurred at the edges. he can make out the faint outline of hundreds of people at a party, of a blue car, of a late night gathering. he can’t make any sense out of it.

 

“i really don’t know,” he says, and suddenly he feels overcome with exhaustion. “i can’t do this. i don’t know.”

 

there’s a long pause of silence, and finally liam takes a deep breath and speaks.

 

“the rumi piece… what do you think it’s about?” and before zayn can mutter a what liam interrupts, “just tell me.”

 

zayn opens his eyes. “it’s about… a man who is in love with the person he’s writing to, i suppose. and…”

 

his thoughts falter.

 

“keep going.”

 

zayn scratches his forehead. “and he tells that person that outside of the world we live in that… the place he’s referring to is one without ideas or… or concepts or language. it’s a different realm where it’s only the two of them, together, outside of time.”

 

liam leans in, holds zayn’s waist tightly. it makes zayn jump. “sound familiar?”

 

“i… no?”

 

liam stares—quite intently—into zayn’s eyes, no trace of humor or jest reflected in his eyes. “where do you think i’ve been, zayn?” and his tone is so serious it sends a shiver down zayn’s spine.

 

“here,” says zayn. “you’ve been here.” and he lazily gestures towards the green of their surroundings.

 

for the first time, liam smiles.

 

“yes,” he says. “here is where i’ve been. waiting for you.”

 

“but why here?” zayn asks. he is tired of answering questions. he only wants answers.

 

“you scream at night, zayn. i can hear you, even if i don’t want to. sometimes it hurts me so much, puts me in so much physical agony i don’t think i can…” he rubs his forehead, flustered. “i’m not around because i can’t be. if it were possible i would but i - i’m not where you are.”

 

tires. zayn can feel them burning, hot and fiery and scraping against asphalt; the sound of defeat. the sound of… of…

 

“you remember that day, i know you do.” and now liam’s voice is softer, sweeter, kinder. “we were on our way to the dock. we had our whole day planned out. drive there, feed the birds, dip our feet in the lake—“

 

and before liam can stop zayn can’t feel the oxygen filling his lungs anymore—

 

“—and watch the sunrise. it was going to be our day, just for us.”

 

time stops. the world stops spinning. zayn holds his head in his heads, the memories whirring past him too quickly to be caught, saved, buried, remembered. he can’t cope. he can’t.

 

moments, images—hundreds of them—of just the two of them, all of them combined chronologically, showing themselves like a movie in his head. he swears the earth he is bound to is made up of these seconds, because even when he opens his eyes, it’s all he sees.

 

it’s him and liam in the library reading across from each other, making conversation for the first time; it’s liam helping zayn with the various papers and utensils he’s dropped in the school hallway; it’s liam making zayn laugh for the first time after reciting a corny joke (zayn remembers the way liam’s face lit up when liam realized he had finally cracked open that wall, even if just slightly); it’s zayn feeling tiny butterflies of sorts in the pit of his stomach when liam smiles so purely, so genuinely; it’s liam walking him home after a rough day, reaching for his hand from time to time; it’s liam bringing zayn soup when he’s too sick to get out of bed; it’s liam leaving notes in zayn’s locker, tugging at his heartstrings, opening him up, telling him it’s okay to feel confused and frustrated and alone; it’s liam’s hand over his own; it’s gentle kisses in the darkness; it’s the moonlight falling on liam’s face, outlining his button nose and perfect smile; it’s liam inviting zayn to his favorite place in the world—here—and being so so so selfless and letting zayn in on all his favorite things; it’s liam comforting zayn when zayn is confused; it’s their inside jokes being pressed against the outline of lips, smooth and generous, willing to give give give while the other pair takes takes takes; it’s zayn in the driver’s seat, liam beside him, driving to the dock in the early hours of the morning while everyone else is still asleep, laughing, singing…

 

colliding. the road appears to be clear from what they can make of it; no signs of people or other cars or even animals show themselves. it’s only them two on the open road, pure smiles and genuine laughter filling the air, windows rolled all the way down, liam’s hand caressing the wind. he looks at zayn, a smile plastered on his face as he hums to the tune of the music filling the air. they’re driving up a steep hill, the road ahead marked as an unknown. the sun is in the sky, the clouds silently hovering over it, casting shadows on their faces. zayn feels liam looking at him, admiring him; he looks back in awe, places his free hand on liam’s cheek as liam opens his mouth to say something, and then—

 

smoke. flame after flame billows up into the air, blackening the sky, darkening the atmosphere. car clashes into car, rubber and metal and scraps of various materials collide with one another. glass breaks, cuts flesh, leaves open wounds. blood paints the interior leather seats, their clothes, the pavement. deafening alarms sound as swirling lights of red and blue whir into sight.

 

“no,” is the only thing that comes out of zayn’s mouth, and it’s such a tiny whisper he isn’t sure if liam has heard him or not, but there’s smoke clouding his lungs, suffocating his heart. he remembers. he remembers now and he wish he didn’t and wished that liam hadn’t helped him figure this out because no this can’t be happening and no i cannot be the one responsible for the reason your side of the bed hasn’t been warm in months.

 

liam leans in close, whispers, “get it?”

///

“you were in a coma for two months before you woke up.”

 

zayn is still, silent. he only looks up when a bird flies above them both, cawing. he refuses to look at liam, ashamed, guilty, embarrassed.

 

“it was… indescribable, the pain of watching everyone come visit you. the crying, the get well cards, the balloons, the hospital air; just the sheer blandness of it all… it was just so unlike you, y’know? you should’ve been kept in a place with brightly painted walls and large windows from floor to ceiling. i’m positive you would’ve woken up sooner.”

 

“who cares?” zayn mutters. the sun has dried the tears on his face; all that’s left is guilt now. “who cares about the fucking hospital and the fucking get well cards and the fucking crying over my pathetic living breathing self when you weren’t even—“ he grabs his hair in his fists, pulls hard. “—when your lifeless body was buried in the ground. how could anyone care about me in a situation like that?”

 

liam makes a face. “don’t be so callous. people love you, zayn, adore you even.” he nudges zayn lightly, traces the outline of his ribcage. “i know i do.”

 

zayn takes in a deep breath, leans into liam. “i don’t deserve your comfort. i don’t deserve your kindness. it’s all my fault.”

 

liam pulls zayn towards him and rests zayn’s head on his chest as he leans against a tree trunk. he presses his lips to zayn’s head, inhales, kisses. “don’t say that,” he murmurs. “don’t ever say that any of this was your doing. it’s insulting. you couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.” he smiles into zayn’s hair, but it doesn’t dissolve or even pinch the remorse that’s still gnawing at zayn’s insides.

 

“i’m serious.” and zayn’s voice is only a whisper but liam can picture another tear rolling down his cheek. “i didn’t just ruin your life but your family’s. how they must feel…”

 

“they’re hurting, yes. of course they are. i used to visit them the most at first, but it didn’t do either of us any good. i swear they could tell when i was around. it was… eerie, to say the least. at first it was anyway, and same with you. they’re in mourning, just as a normal grieving family should be, and they miss me. but you know them, zayn. we’re a strong specimen, us paynes. we fall but we always come back up ten times more solid.” liam holds up his arm and forces the muscle in his bicep to pop out of his arm as if imitating popeye.

 

“how?” zayn asks. “how did this happen? how did any of this happen to us?”

 

liam sighs heavily. “afraid i don’t have the answer to that. things just… are. i think that’s about the best answer i can give you.” bits and pieces of zayn’s hair fall into his eyes and liam puts them neatly back in place, caressing the contours of zayn’s face along the way, outlining it, memorizing it.

 

“i need you to do something for me,” liam says.

 

“anything.” and for the first time that day it isn’t sadness that overwhelms zayn but hope in making things better, easier, less breakable.

 

there’s a pause. and then. “you have to let me go zayn.” and there is nothing joking about his voice or in the way he says it. “you have to learn to live without me.”

 

and all at once zayn is conflicted because he wants to give liam everything and wants to prove he can be selfless but it’s always so much easier said than done.  
“i know myself, liam. and i know i can’t live without you.”

 

liam smiles at him, and it’s the saddest sight zayn’s ever seen. the back of his throat itches at the tears he knows aren’t far from spilling over. “i’m afraid you don’t have a choice. it physically pains me to be here zayn, to be here with you like this. don’t you get it? i’m not whole.”

 

“but—“ zayn stutters, and it feels like the ground is shaking beneath his feet. he knows the truth, he does. in his heart he feels he can reverse what’s been done by questioning further, but he knows better. “louis and harry and niall—they all acknowledged you—they—“

 

“they didn’t,” says liam softly. he brings a hand up to zayn’s hair, brushes it out of his eyes once more. “most of the time we look without really seeing, don’t we?”

zayn can’t shake off the sobs that radiate throughout his chest now. the tears don’t flow but his body trembles with the weight of guilt. the it’s in his stomach, his legs, his ankles, weighing him down like an anchor.

 

“it wasn’t your fault,” liam says, and brings his lips to zayn’s ear as they sway to their own rhythm, dancing to their own tune, liam’s hand against zayn’s back. for a moment zayn imagines that they’re in their living room at home swaying to slow music on their record player, happy, healthy, content. but even this fantasy leaves him with little air left to inhale, so he squints out the thought, gulps it. it scrapes his esophagus, leaves a trail of blood as it makes its way down.

 

when liam speaks his voice is nothing but velvet and sweetness and sadness. “out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field.”

 

zayn doesn’t bother holding back the tears now. the pain is almost too intense as his heart twists into contorted shapes and figures, becomes too big for his chest. he bites his lip as the millions of tears cascade down his cheeks. “i’ll meet you there,” is his reply as he presses his lips against liam’s neck. his breathing is rapid and terrifyingly uneven.

 

what a lovely way to die, he thinks.

 

“when the soul lies down in that grass, the world is too full to talk about.” liam plants a slow kiss onto zayn’s forehead, and zayn’s eyes flutter closed, his heartbeat turning back to normal. “ideas…” a kiss on zayn’s cheek. “language…” a kiss on zayn’s jaw. “even the phrase ‘each other’…” a kiss on zayn’s neck. “doesn’t make any sense…” a slow, smoldering kiss on zayn’s lips. time stops in its tracks. mint and raspberries collide with spices and shampoo. in that single moment they forget about time, about seconds and minutes and hours and whatever else there is that could possibly keep them apart: second thoughts, distance, infinite space.

 

zayn vows to remember this forever.

 

///

 

“i wish you could stay with me. i wish you didn’t have to go,” says zayn, his voice dripping with sadness, “but i also don’t want you to keep hurting.”

 

“shhh.” liam can’t keep his fingers from touching zayn now; zayn closes his eyes at the warmth that accompanies liam’s touch involuntarily, makes him feel at home.

 

zayn looks up into the sky, observes the clouds and the treetops and the difference he feels in his heart. “how much longer do we have?” it pains him just to ask, but he needs to know.

 

“sunset,” liam replies. “’til then i’m all yours.”

 

///

 

zayn’s bones radiate with the heat from liam’s body. head rested up against liam’s chest, eyes closed, he feels more okay than he has in a long time. but more than okay. he feels content almost. lying there, everything is okay.

 

they sit in a daze, watching clouds go by and the sun drop lower and lower into the sky, forming a horizon. words don’t need to be spoken. actions and thoughts and feelings are enough.

 

liam places a piece of paper on zayn’s chest, keeps his hands there, whispers, “for you,” as he places a soft kiss on zayn’s head.

 

time has no meaning.

 

///

 

leaves fall. bright orange and yellow and apple green line the pavement of every walkway in the city. the days are shorter, brisker, cooler. and though it feels like the start of something new, something fresh, zayn can’t help but feel like a part of his past is flying in the atmosphere.

 

he’s never been here before. and as soon as he enters and sees slab after slab of stone buried into the ground revealing names of lost loved one, the negative part of his mind has a minor setback - don’t do this. dont. - but he’s stronger now.  
shivers run down his spine, but that’s okay. his tongue evaporates, completely dry; but he’ll be fine.

 

he eyes the headstones, each one revealing the name of a brother or a mother or a son or a father or a friend or an uncle whose life was lost - some naturally and some terribly. he sees the title ‘anna marie, 1997-2004, always remembered’ and flinches. seven years old. seven, and her life was taken.

 

but liam was blessed with eighteen. liam, his best friend and the love of his life. he smiles at that.

 

it’s only three more rows ‘til he finds him, the stone a cold shade of grey and rough at the touch. he thinks that if anyone were to eye it as he were right now, run a few fingers over it, they wouldn’t know liam. because liam wasn’t cold or grey or rough or any of the things this place represents. he was warm and solid and bright, the light of zayn’s life.

 

liam payne. brother, son, friend. 29 august 1993 - 13 march 2012.

 

“hey you,” he whispers, the tombstone cold under his touch. it’s strange, talking to himself. it’s strange because he thought coming here he would feel liam’s presence, feel his being, feel him watching over him like a guardian angel or something sappy of the sort and he’s a bit disappointed at how completely foolish he is for having hoped on it.

 

he closes his eyes, remembers liam’s hair, his eyes, his nose, his soft touches and swift movements. he can’t help it when a tear escapes his eyes and rolls down the right side of his cheek. but it is not out of sadness or pity or disdain.

 

“i’m sorry,” he mumbles, wiping his face with the back of his hand, “promised i wouldn’t cry coming here. i - i guess i imagined it differently, that’s all.”

 

it’s as if he’s waiting for some sort of answer. some sort of signal or sign like the clouds separating and light shining from the heavens or a faint whisper in his ear -  
“god i miss you.” it’s only a whisper and even as he feels tearless sobs tackle his chest, he can’t help but smile.

 

“but i’ll see you soon.” hope. infinite amounts of it overtake the sobs and it’s as if he’s as light as a feather, floating and floating and floating on strength and happiness and family and support and the time he got to spend with liam; tangled in sheets and tucked beneath sand and riding high on adrenaline you feel when you’re in love. people here - people as young as seven years old, perhaps younger - their lives ripped from them so early. they had not experienced the kind of love that liam had. or zayn.

 

and that was enough to keep zayn smiling.

 

“i came to bring you this. i’ve memorized it front and back, don’t you worry. but i figure it’ll be more use to you now than me.” he places a folded piece of faded paper on the granite, the dead rose petals beneath his feet crunching as he steps on them.

 

“you used to say i taught you so much. you used to tell me every day that you learned from me, that you grew because of me. but i’m finding that i’ve learned so much more from you, liam. i have. i’m better. and i have you to thank for it.”  
the leaves of the trees sway, a light breeze moving through zayn’s hair, airing out the pores of his skin. he closes his eyes, inhales the fresh air, crisp and clean. green and new beginnings and clear eyes. brown eyes. chocolate eyes. staring into his own and breathing him in and whispering again and again i love you i love you i love you.

 

“wait for me,” he says, and places a kiss on the headstone, turning on his heels and walking away, head high, eyes open, mind free.

 

he doesn’t look back.

 

///

 

if ever zayn has a doubt - a single thought crossing his mind, a demon in the back of his head spitting fire at his convictions - somewhere nearby he hears a voice, calm and soothing and reassuring, soft around the edges.

 

_“if you ever think i’ve disappeared, you know where to find me. there is a field. and i will meet you there.”_

**Author's Note:**

> don't hate me i said there was character death ok


End file.
